A Final Goodbye
by Anastasia Tremaine
Summary: They were as different as night and day, one a Slytherin, the other a Gryffindor. Yet they would always be brothers. Regulus writes to Sirius in the hours before his death.


Sirius Orion Black

My heroic older brother Sirius,

I am about to die. I know that as surely as I know my own name. I have little time left, a few hours at most, before I depart from the world of the living and begin the next great adventure (imminent death does chose to make a poet out of all of us) However, I am one of the lucky ones, I get to choose how and when and why I die. At least, I think I'm lucky. In these last few hours as I plan my death, I wish I could to be struck into oblivion in mere seconds, no time to think or panic or wish for more time. But, for better or for worse, I am allowed to choose my death and so my final wish is for you to know why.

When I was younger you were my hero, I always wanted to be as brave and as strong as you were. Mother was wary of you, even back then, and tried her best to separate us (I think she gave up on you when you marched around the house aged five, declaring that you were going to marry a muggle) She tried her hardest but I continued to follow you around the house like a puppy, believing every word you said and sneaking into your room at night. And you loved me back, I know you did, until that fateful day you left for Hogwarts and everything we had got destroyed. For you were sorted into Gryffindor and suddenly your name was sacrilege, and your room was locked and your pictures taken down from the walls and I was forbidden to write to you or talk of you. Mother cried and father hid in his study and they both wondered where they had gone wrong. The Black heir in Gryffindor, consorting with mudbloods, blood traitors and worse, learning dangerous ideas. And Grandpapa decided that I must be 'raised' (a pretty euphemism for brainwashed) differently to ensure I would become a proud Slytherin like everyone else in our godforsaken family.

And so a new regime began in our house. Each morning Father would tutor me in what it meant to be a pureblood and how it was 'my duty to protect and preserve the sacred customs of the wizarding world.' Each afternoon mother would lecture me on etiquette and proper mannerisms befitting of a pureblood. The weekend would be spent with various family members, even Bellatrix came by once or twice, who told tales of the greatness Slytherin would bring to me and how you had betrayed us all. They told me you didn't love me, that you had purposefully disowned the family by your actions. I was a few months shy of my ninth birthday and I was alone with just their pretty words for company and you never even wrote home (mother burned your letters and told me there were none) and I believed everything they had to say and lapped up the praise and attention and ideals they bestowed upon me.

When you returned home that summer you ignored me, hiding in your room, which only fueled Grandpapa's hate filled speeches (I found out later that mother had threatened you and father had beaten you to ensure you and your corrupting ideas stayed well away from me) And you left again, having spoken to me a grand total of three times, leaving me to suffer through another year of their madness, alone. The second year was even worse, that was the year Andromeda ran off with the muggleborn and Mother blasted her off the tapestry. Everyone was even more determined that I should be come the quintessential Black, intolerance and discrimination just two of my many talents. I was praised for laughing at mudbloods and given gifts of new brooms and toys for each bigoted comment I made. By the time my letter arrived I was the perfect pureblood heir, happily lapping up every drop of prejudice that fell from their lips. I was sorted in Slytherin and tried to convince myself I was happy (I wasn't a good liar back then). For my first two years at Hogwarts I was a prejudiced, racist, elitist, misogynistic, chauvinistic bigot. I believed myself to be above all others simply due to the pureness of my blood and the wealth of my parents. I was perfect, in the eyes of our family and my housemates, and I loved every second of it.

(Ravenclaws abhorred me and Hufflepuffs ignored me and Slytherins adored me)

Cracks started forming in my beautiful little bubble during the summer preceding my third year. Mother and father were out (you were merlin knows where) and so I was sitting alone at the breakfast table, blissfully opening the letters that my 'friends' had sent me. At the bottom of the pile of letters was an unmarked envelope, plain and cheap in comparison to the expensive parchment my friends wrote on. My curiosity suitably aroused, I opened the envelope to find a picture of a little girl, a metamorphmagus with pink hair and deep blue eyes levitating a coffee table. That little girl was our niece, Nymphadora Hope Tonks. On the back of the picture, scrawled in messy handwriting, was 'You don't have to be pureblooded to be powerful'

I questioned Kreacher (Even I wasn't stupid enough to mention Andromeda around our parents) and he revealed that Andromeda sent monthly pictures of her little daughter, all of which mother had promptly burnt without a second thought. I was supposed to burn the picture and ignore our cousin, she had betrayed us after all. But Andromeda was sweet and she was family and she had always been so kind and patient with me, willing to play with me despite the nine year age gap. And the house was empty and I was lonely and I hadn't spoken to anyone in our family, barring mother and father, in months (Bellatrix was always off running errands for her Lord, Narcissa was happily playing the beautiful socialite and you hated me and so were off with Potter doing Merlin knows what) and I couldn't bring myself to burn the picture. I poured my heart out over twelve pages of parchment, begging her to be family again. I told her how lonely I was and how everyone seemed to talk of nothing but the Dark Lord and how Bellatrix would sent me weekly pictures or articles concerning the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. But you've always been the brave one and so I burnt the letter that I'd spent hours writing and threw the shorter, colder missives that I would write every few months into the Slytherin fireplace. A year later I sat at the same table, alone again. You'd finally run away - you wrote once to tell me that I could join you but I was never the brave one, I was weak and soft and idolized our parents - and I was officially the only son and I was lonely and desperate and mother and father couldn't have a civil conversation (bruises are the height of fashion amongst pureblooded women) and I wrote a thousand more letters to Andromeda (in the end I sent a simple five line missive and never opened her reply)

I returned to school for my fourth year as the only son. Your eyes passed over me when we met in the halls and I knew you'd given up on me. And I missed you and I missed Andromeda and I began to hate our parents and question the ideals that had been repeated to me day in day out since the day I was born. But I'd never been taught to think for myself and I wasn't as brave as you were and I was never made to rebel (I was the good one) and so I pretended to still believe everything and I pretended to fall in love with Amoret Nott and pretended not to notice how beautiful Beth Staunton was (she was just an uppity mudblood, right?) And pretended to be happy and pretended I didn't miss you and pretended to be the perfect son that mother had always longed for. And my heart broke and my soul shattered and still I pretended to be everything I was supposed to be.

I threw myself into my studies that year and became known as quiet, studious Regulus (not as charismatic or charming as his older brother) who was pleasant and polite (not as passionate or wild as his eldest cousin) and often seen in the library (not as popular or beautiful as his youngest cousin) and would never dream of rebelling (not as brave or free spirited as his disowned cousin). And in my fifth year I got ten Outstanding OWLs and you graduated and didn't even look at me one last time as you walked off the train and I knew I never see you again and that night I cried for the brother you never were and the childhood we never had.

Bellatrix sent me a letter, asking me to meet with her Lord. I joined his cause.

That summer I covered my room in Death Eater propaganda and pictures of my Lord and donned a silver mask to kill my classmates whose blood wasn't as pure as mine. And mother was proud and father congratulated me and Bellatrix smiled at me from across the room and Narcissa invited me round for tea (and her husband smirked at me and offered to take me under his wing and helped me rise through the ranks until I was damn near the top) and the whole family was so proud. Little Regulus, the perfect son, he'll make the family proud. And Grandpapa even stopped shoving potential brides at me as I was too busy fighting for 'our cause' to properly court a woman. They were so proud of me and I had my family back and I should have been so happy but I couldn't feel anything. I counted down the days until I could return to school and escape the constant praise that I received.

I returned for my sixth year (the prefect badge you never knew I had pinned to my robes) my dark mark covered by my long robe sleeves and kissed Pricilla Avery (soon to be Parkinson if rumors are to be believed) and lost my virginity to Cornelia Rowle and drank fire whiskey with Erian Nott on the astronomy tower and I slept my way through the year and drank myself into oblivion trying to feel something, anything. I couldn't breathe. The Slytherin table was filled by my fellow Death Eaters, with their shining eyes and boastful voices, (the other tables were filled with empty seats and red rimmed eyes that mourned for those that we, their fellow students, had killed). I graduated Hogwarts with seven Outstanding Newts and was ready to begin full time service to the Dark Lord. (I'm not as brave as you, I couldn't gather up the courage to disappoint our family. I was stuck in a hole that I couldn't dig myself out of)

I took the easy way out, the first time round. Rather than standing up for what's right, I bowed down to expectations and became a slave to the whims of a madman. I could have ignored him, I could have hidden in the manor, hell I could even have stayed neutral like Cyrus Greengrass (although I don't think neutrality will be an option for much longer, both sides share the view that you're either with them or against them) but instead I was perfect pureblooded Regulus and I kissed the hem of _his_ robes, so that I wouldn't disappoint mother dearest. And I've been in his service for over two years and I've seen the most despicable things and I've murdered in cold blood and I watched beautiful Beth Staunton be tortured and raped by one of my childhood friends because her two loving parents were muggles and her blood wasn't as pure as ours. I'm only eighteen, Sirius, but that doesn't matter, not during a war anyway. Age is but a number after all.

Now, at last I have been offered both an escape and a chance for redemption and although soon I shall depart from the earth in the most gruesome of ways, I just want you to know I don't regret this. I deserve to die for my actions and I will gladly die in an attempt to render the Dark Lord mortal. I will gladly die so that your own children and your godson and little Nymphadora don't have to. I will die to ensure that we are the last generation of child soldiers. I will die for a cause that I have fought against for so long and only recently begun to truly believe in. I will die for equality.

I doubt you'll think of me much, we haven't been brothers in any way but blood since your sorting all those years ago. But I hope you'll remember me for how I died rather than for how I lived. I haven't been a good man but if luck and fate and Merlin are on our side, my death will help you and your militant group to overthrown the tyranny of Voldemort's brutal reign. And what's one more life lost in this endless war.

I never hated you, you know. Despite everything, no matter what our parents said, no matter how often you ignored and rejected me, I still love you. You're my big brother and you're a better person that I'll ever be, than the rest of our family ever were. The rest of our family is dying, killed by the hatred that runs through their souls and bodies and minds. Narcissa is distant and empty, Bellatrix is growing dangerously obsessed with the Dark Lord, the elder generation is dying out (Father died last month, you know) but you and Andromeda (the only Blacks who learnt how to love), you two will survive. I know without a doubt that you will win this battle eventually. So many people fighting for what is truly right cannot fail. Someday, peace will come and you'll be safe again. Think of me fondly, my brother. And make sure your children never make the same mistake I did. Show them love and kindness and acceptance, tell them how hatred destroyed their Uncle Regulus, how it destroyed him and ate away at his soul until he could no longer live. Tell them I tried to redeem myself. Tell them I'm sorry. I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me but I hope you can try.

I've given Kreacher strict instruction to hide this letter away from everyone until such a time that Voldemort is dead and you are free. Because until the war is over you're a marked man and you'll never know peace. I don't know how much longer the war will last but I know, with all my withered heart and broken soul, that eventually your side shall triumph and Voldemort shall be destroyed. It may be years, maybe even decades, before you receive this letter but I know that you will eventually. I know that you'll survive this war, you have to. I know you will. So good luck my brother, I'll see you again on the other side but take your time.

Your brother

Regulus Arcturus Black

Reggie

Tears spilling down his cheeks, Regulus put the quill down and buried his face in his hands. "Sirius" he whispered shakily. He stared at the letter he'd written to Sirius, a myriad of emotions displayed on his normally unreadable face. "I'm doing this for you, Siri" He spoke louder, his voice steadier, "And for Andi" Pulling a fresh piece of parchment towards him, he picked up his favourite peacock feather quill (a gift from Sirius for his seventh birthday) and in neat, precise writing, his hand steady, he wrote:

 _"To the Dark Lord,_

 _I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more."_

 _R.A.B_

And with his voice strong and unshakable, his determination unwavering, Regulus Black entered the final hour of life.

"Kreacher. I need your help."


End file.
